


So This Is What You Call Redemption

by cassbutts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Drugs, End!verse, Fallen Castiel, M/M, One Shot, Post Season 8, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:44:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassbutts/pseuds/cassbutts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel left as soon as they angels had fallen, thinking he could keep them away from Sam and Dean. A year goes by, now being 2014, as Cas runs and hides, becoming all-too-human for what an angel should be. When he comes across Dean the hunter can't help but see the resemblance between his Cas and the one from the future once shown to him all those years ago. With Castiel on the edge, how can the 2014 of Zachariah's making not be true?</p>
            </blockquote>





	So This Is What You Call Redemption

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Originally this was supposed to be strictly end!verse, but that changed into post season8 --> "The End"  
> Enjoy :)

There wasn’t much to say anymore. Once the angels had fallen he had shut himself away, running, hiding, all so that he wouldn’t have to face _him_. And what a thought that was! There Cas was, slipping away from the world with a heart—yes, a human heart full of emotion—that clung desperately onto the thought that everything wasn’t all bad. But it was. He was just being too foolish to admit it even though, deep inside his breast, he knew.

He knew that the tide had turned and all his efforts were in vain, for he no longer feared God Himself.

Who even was God? A father who had suddenly abandoned his children? Or was He simply putting them all up for a Divine task that tested their strength and will? No matter who He was, or what He planned, He held as much sway as the empty voids where not even His creations existed in bloody messes of death and remorse.

Cas accepted that there was no God, not any more at least. And so he feared the next wonder on his list of complete devotion: Dean.

Perhaps fear was not the right word. Cas didn’t fear Dean, at least not in the sense where Dean would be able to smite him to a pile of broken ashes and feathers. Cas did nothing but love Dean, and it was love, or fear of love, rather, that kept him away.

He was afraid to go back to the long-ago broken man who had been left to pick up the pieces of those who had been shattered.

He was afraid to go back and look into the eyes that would hold their fate. Surely he had known then, when he picked up his life shard by shard after the angels had fallen, what Cas had done. How could he have not?

Cas could not look into those eyes that would either hold shame or compassion, the latter also being poisoned in ways that could never fully be healed.

And so he didn’t. He left the hole between him and Dean the same, not wanting to take the chance to see if it could ever be repaired. He left behind all that he had ever known, ever loved, and it _hurt_.

He would sooner throw himself repeatedly on the swords of all of his brothers and sister for his sins than have to feel such emptiness inside himself. He was not even sure if that was entirely a fair trade.

But life went on. Life always goes on, doesn’t it, even when you’re an angel turned mortal? Cas stayed far from Dean, from Sam, from Kevin Tran, and from Abbadon. He stayed far from the life he had left behind, even though it meant almost dying as he tried to escape former angels who were out for his head and the demons that were, well, demons.

It was a weary life, filled with painful memories that clouded his head every time he placed it on whatever his pillow was for that night. It was weary and it was empty.

At first Cas just ran, not knowing where it was he was heading and never looking back. He ran because his life depended on it, and he was afraid of the love that gnawed at his heart, wishing and begging him to turn back.

He ignored that feeling even when it was powerful enough to send him to his knees in a fit of gasps and reddened eyes. He told himself it was for the best. And it was, wasn’t it? He told himself that if he ran the angels and the demons would come after him, and they would leave the brothers alone. And in that moment of peace he had granted them he hoped they would succeed in translating the Angel Tablet and fix all his mistakes. Just like always.

Free will was a bitch, and Cas knew it. You can pick your path but you always end up in the same place. You think you have the choice, you think you can change the future, but you can’t. Cas knew that now. If caught in a moment of false pride he’d say he knew it better than anyone else.

* * *

 

It was a year before he saw Dean again. Cas had somehow arrived in the east, in a small town right outside of Ohio. The wind was filled with a chill that dug deep into Cas’s skin, freezing him to the bone even as he huddled into the thin sweatshirt he had managed to pick up from a thrift shop.

His trench coat had been lost long ago when he had run straight into a group of angels. Even though they were fallen they still maintained a little grace, just a fleck on their new souls, that they used to hunt Cas down.

Cas would be lying if he said he came out completely unscathed. No, he came out with several long cuts up his arms and without a trench coat. He was forced to leave it behind when he jumped a fence, only to have it catch on the wires.

He shrugged it off without a second thought, because it was either his life or the trench coat. Or, rather, Dean’s life or the trench coat.

Somehow he managed to escape his pursuers in the dead of the night, and, with the money he had either stolen or made by taking local jobs no one else wanted, he got himself a room in some dungy motel room.

The gashes on his arms were felt only then, when the adrenaline had left his body through sweat and gasping breaths. He supposed they could hurt worse, and somewhere, deep inside his mind, he knew that he deserved more pain than what he had been treated with.

He found a sewing kit in the drawers of the nightstand. Stitching up his arms couldn't be that hard, he figured. He had seen both Sam and Dean do it without flinching, so why couldn’t he? That had been what his life had been based off of during that time, what he had seen Sam and Dean and other humans do.

Turns out he had been wrong on so many levels. All he managed to do was make a bloody mess of himself. His arms hurt even more than before, stinging and throbbing so that Cas’s head spun in circles. As he fell back onto the bed, not bothering to finish up the piss poor job of stitching, he began to welcome the pain. It was real, and it was something he could latch onto. It was _welcoming_.

His life went on like that for some time. Running from place to place and doing what he could to stay alive. He had to buy himself a new set of clothes, but the larger malls and brand name stores hardly offered him any aid. Thrift shops worked instead, and he managed to get the occasional razor and other human necessities from dollar stores.

Sometimes, if he had the money, he would buy himself some alcohol and drown out his old sorrow, removing them from his being for at least the moment. Dean had always done the same, and it seemed to work, so Cas figured it could work just as well for him.

And then there were always the drugs.

He had been running through empty alleyways, trying his best to shake off the local police. He’d been caught trying to hotwire some woman’s car. A piece of junk metal, but a car nonetheless. Cas had seen Sam and Dean do it countless times, and he figured that it couldn’t be that hard. But, like it was with the stitching, he was wrong.

Someone he managed to get away, and he collapsed beside a dumpster, trying not to breathe in the smell of rotten foods that threatened to burn both his nose and his lungs despite his gasping breaths. He must have dozed off, because when he woke up the street was dark and a man stood leaning against the wall across from him.

The man made small talk, filling the silence with pointless topics or questions that Cas really couldn’t give a damn about. That went on for some time before the man came over to him—or did Cas go to him?—and asked if he’d like to get away for a while.

Of course Cas said yes, although he was not in the right state of mind and in complete coherence. But after the past few months he never really was. Cas didn’t remember anything that happened during that time, or what he had taken from the man. The man’s words were lost on him along with whatever warnings he had given. He didn’t know what in heaven’s name he was doing, not anymore.

All Cas knew was that he hadn’t felt so good in his far too long mortal life. He felt great, and he couldn’t even bring himself to care about what would happen if Dean were ripped apart before his very eyes. He didn’t care and it was wonderful.

Soon enough the money spent on razors was put towards alcohol. He would have put it towards the drugs, but, hell, he wasn’t exactly the best at finding the drugged up humans. He could hardly find the regular ones or even hold “decent conversation” with them. So how was he supposed to find humans who could give drugs to him?

Alcohol was the next best thing, he figured.

That was how Dean found him. Scraggly, weary, and slightly bloody with a beer can in his hand. Cas wasn’t certain if Dean had recognized him at first. The hunter’s eyes scanned right over him, ignoring the man who sat on the bench of the too-filled-for-his-liking park.

Dean was dressed in his suit and tie, obviously on a hunt and playing FBI. He looked good. He looked really fucking good, and that was far more than what Cas could say for himself.

If it had been earlier on, when he first ran off, Cas would have gone rigid in fear. If Cas was keeping the angels and the demons away from Dean who, by some wretched twist of Fate, had come to the same place as he…. He preferred not to finish that thought.

But it hadn’t been earlier on. No, it was later. It was damn well later. So all Cas could do was laugh. It was bitter and heart wrenching, and he only did it so he would not cry.

The laugh had caught the attention of Dean. He looked over, eyes narrowed in what could be considered disgust. But the look on his face as Cas laughed even louder and with more derision? That was priceless.

His eyes widened to the point of falling out of his skull, and Cas swore he had never seen a living man grow so pale. The heart in his chest that throbbed with every breath had become numb, and still Cas laughed.

He laughed in memory of his old life, of when he had truly been an Angel of the Lord. He laughed because of everything, because, really, how could you _not_ find the situation hilarious?

If you were Dean then you were one of those people. He stood there, rigid as a plank and white as the moon, and he just looked at Cas.

Turned out that Cas’s heart wasn’t completely numb yet. When he looked into Dean’s eyes it twisted and pulled and made him feel sick. The image of Dean standing before him burned itself into his mind, the image of Dean standing there with undeniable fear in his green eyes.

Over the course of what could either have been minutes or seconds Cas finally stopped laughing. A small smile grew on his lips, because, hell, it wasn’t as if he knew what in the world to do. He didn’t know anything anymore, and what he did claim to have knowledge of completely snapped away as soon as Dean looked at him.

Dean would have none of his smiles, though. No, instead, he marched right up to Cas, looked the other man in the eyes, and punched him.

Hard.

The beer can fell from Cas’s grip, dropping onto the bench and rolling onto the grass beneath his feet. It took Cas a moment to recover. When he finally did Dean was still looking at him with the same fearful expression, and the previous rush of anger was extinguished as quickly as it had come.

“Cas?” he managed to choke out.

Cas, knowing that Dean wouldn’t respond well to another smile, looked up at him and said, “Hello, Dean.”

They remained in silence for a few moments more, and Cas still couldn’t figure out why Dean looked at him like he had just been shot to death and then raised back from the dead. No, that was a bad comparison. The Winchesters already had enough of the raising from the dead crap to think it that strange.

A life could have passed before Cas realized why Dean had grown wide-eyed and pale. Luckily, it did not, and the realization of Dean’s thoughts sent similar expressions across his own face, once entirely stoic.

Zachariah.

Lucifer.

What Dean had been told would be the end.

His heart dropped to his gut, and the world began to sway in his eyes. It shifted and turned, moving in way that couldn’t be possible. Cas squinted into the sights and tried to focus only on the man in front of him. Even Dean was beginning to fade in his sight. Soon enough the world turned black and Cas was left in the shadows.

* * *

 

He regained consciousness some time after, around an hour or so, if the clock on the nightstand was right. With a grunt he sat up, blinking as he took in his surroundings. Clock on the nightstand, bed beneath his body… The all too familiar setting of a dank motel room flooded his vision, and all Cas could do was stare at fading wallpaper before him.

Why was he in a motel? Hadn’t he been in a park earlier? Laughing, he was laughing. But why?

Cas was beginning to feel sick again when he realized what exactly had happened.

Dean.

A cough sounded from the side of the room, and Cas turned to look at the other man who sat stiffly in one of the chairs by the window. The shock seemed to have worn off a bit, for even though his posture was rigid, Dean’s face had regained some of its color and his eyes were slightly narrowed. They scanned over Cas’s body, scrutinizing every little detail they could absorb.

Cas shifted under the gaze, and the sudden urge to laugh filled him once more. When did he, an Angel of the Lord, shift under Dean Winchester’s gaze? He had once been as patient as a stone, and now? Now he wasn’t quite sure what he was.

Once upon a time he might have made a sort of deadpan (and, yes, Cas had grown fully aware of proper human conduct and conversation during his time on the road. He had to.) It would have most certainly broken the awkward silence that was hanging heavy in the air between them, but he wasn’t exactly sure what to say.

Dean appeared to have picked up on the way Cas was struggling for words, so he broke the silence with his own voice instead.

“Where were you, man?” It was meant to come out light, easy, with that small teasing edge that Dean usually had when he spoke with those he had grown used to. But the words came out broken and forced, and Cas noted the sharp inhale Dean took after he finished them.

“Away,” Cas replied. He didn’t know what to say. Not at all. When Dean’s eyes narrowed even further he figured that open-ended responses weren’t going to fix the tension between them. “I was keeping the angels and the demons away,” he clarified.

Dean’s expression was unreadable. His face became a stoic mask, and Cas, sitting on the bed and fighting the urge to burst into laughter, felt that their places had changed in social regards. And it was not for the best of things either.

“So you just left? You just… got up and left without saying anything? Without saying any damn thing?” Dean had risen from his chair and had begun to pace back and forth.

“I’m sorry,” Cas managed to say. The words were stale in his mouth, and he knew they were hardly enough.

“You’re sorry?” Dean asked, voice rising. “You come back after a year and you say you’re _sorry_?”

“I didn’t mean to come back.”

Cas had seen almost anything there was to see. He was an angel, for heaven’s sake. Or was, he _was_ an angel. He had seen the world be built up along with the humans, and he had seen and watched their every move. He had seen everything from Hell and back, and he lived through all of it.

He had lived for centuries on end, and in that time he had both seen and done many things. Some he had even come to regret.

But none of those things he regretted—no matter what they were or how important—more than the words he had just said.

He had watched Dean hold himself together with a bit of string through thick and thin and he respected him for it. Cas loved him for it.

And nothing he could ever say or do could hurt Dean like those few words just had. It was as if he watched the string unravel, sinking to the ground in complete loss. As soon as the words had left Cas’s mouth he felt their impact, and he knew Dean had felt them tenfold.

Cas opened his mouth to say something, _anything_ , but no words would escape his withered heart.

Dean just looked at him. He just looked, and nothing more. Cas could see the way the words dug deep, and there was nothing he could do to fish them out, to apologize for what he had said. There was nothing he could say or do even though deep inside his breast, buried under all the alcohol and ignorance and heavy locks on his heart, he had wanted nothing more than to come back. To come back to Dean and to Sam, the only two people in all of existence who could possibly still love him.

So he just looked at Dean, and they looked at each other in silence and pain.

It could have lasted forever if nothing disturbed it—Cas was willing to bet on it with his life. Except the door to the motel room swung open, hitting the wall behind it in what could easily have been thunder to the ears of Cas and Dean.

Sam entered the room, looking down at his phone as he did so. “Dean,” he said, “I got your message. What—” He stopped dead, having looked up to see Cas sitting on the edge of the bed. “Castiel,” he said. “Cas you’re alright!” His voice was filled with a mixture of awe and relief, far from the heavy tone of Dean’s own.

Cas smiled. He full on smiled, showing teeth and all. He had to keep from scowling as well, because, although he was glad to see Sam who appeared to be decently better from the trials, then was not the time for the younger brother to walk in. Sam’s entrance did break up the silence between Cas and Dean, however, so for that he was grateful.

“As fit as a whistle,” he said, still smiling. Though the words were meant to be blithe he could not keep the sharp edge from sinking in, and Cas wondered when he had picked up the snide attitude.

Sam blinked, just as thrown off by Cas’s composure as Dean had been earlier. He took in the fallen angel with his eyes, and Cas watched how his expressions shifted when they say his new getup. He recovered quickly, far faster than Dean had. So he looked up and gave a small smile.

“It’s ‘as fit as a fiddle’ or ‘as clean as a whistle,’” he said.

Cas blinked. “What?”

“It’s not ‘as fit as a whistle,’ Cas,” Dean said after a moment.

The sharp comment caught even Sam off guard. He looked at Dean in surprise, then at Cas, and something must have clicked in his mind if the expression on his face meant anything. He made an O shape with his mouth and placed his hand back on the door.

Sam meant to say something, but Cas beat him to it.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

Dean laughed. That was the snapping point for him. “You’re _sorry_! Listen here, you son of a bitch, ‘sorry’ isn’t going to fix anything. Didn’t mean to come back? Then _fine_. Get you’re sorry ass out of here and don’t come back. Castiel, I swear to God—”

“God doesn’t hear your prayers,” Cas cut Dean off. He rose from the bed, swaying slightly as the world began to twist around him for a moment. “And you know what, I will. You know why? Because I’m trying to keep the monsters, yet again, away from _you_. And if I’m here… Well what a half-assed job I’m doing, isn’t it?”

He didn’t wait for Dean to answer and he began to walk to Sam and the door. With every step his head throbbed. Still he pushed through it and made his way to the door. His head hurt, he felt sick, and he sure as hell didn’t want to deal with Dean’s shit right then.

A large hand on his shoulder stopped him.

Sam.

“Cas, you know you can stay here, right?” The words were spoken gingerly, as if Sam was testing thin ice.

Cas shrugged away. “I prefer places where I’m welcome. Oh, wait.” He practically spat the words, and he didn’t need to look at Sam’s face to know that the taller man was more than surprised. Cas would be the first to admit that he was surprised with _himself_. A long year did many things to a fallen angel.

As he opened the door the same hand that once held him slammed it shut. Cas looked up at Sam. His head was hurting God dammit and he didn’t want to deal with any of this. Let Dean act all bitchy, what did he care?

The thing was, though, that deep down he did care, and an old part of his self was crying and begging him to stay.

“You’re staying, Cas,” Sam said. His voice left no room for argument, and Cas shrunk down into his thin layers when he realized that.

He allowed himself to be guided over to the bed where he sat down unceremoniously. Lying back down, he rubbed at his eyes till they were raw and red. The tension in the room had reached an all-time high, and Sam and Dean’s eyes on his rugged body, staring and prodding at him like he was some foreign object, did nothing to help.

His head still throbbed and it his stomach still churned. Damn hangovers. He still hadn’t gotten used to them over the past few months. He never regretted them, though. No, never. They were salvation, they were pain. And pain was real. Just as real as the nights when he had drowned his mind and sorrows. If that wasn’t something uplifting then he didn’t know what was.

“Do you want to shower?”

Cas’s eyes snapped open, and instantly he regretted it as he had to squint into the light above his head. Looking back over at Sam he saw that the question was not a question at all. It was a demand. Truth be told, if he were Sam he wouldn’t want himself on the bed either.

He made a move to get up but quickly dropped back down with a grunt. Getting up wasn’t exactly on the top of his list right then. So instead he rolled over to the edge, figuring that once he was on the floor he would want nothing more than to get up. But no, that wasn’t the case as he landed on the stained carpet.

He was on his stomach with his hands stuck beneath his chest. It was an uncomfortable position, but he could sleep there if he wanted to. With his nose pressed up against the red carpet he realized he _definitely_ could sleep there.

When was the last time he slept anyways? A few days ago? With all the running and drinking and hiding he’d been doing he didn’t really know. More than an hour of sleep at a time was a blessing, but with Dean beside him, watching over him, he could sleep as long as he’d like and that would be more than a blessing. That’d be heaven all over again.

Hands gripped his shoulders, pulling Cas up. Cas figured the least he could do was help in some way, so he caught his balance and stood the rest of the way on his own. The hands stayed in place and turned Cas toward the bathroom. He saw Sam through the corner of his eyes.

Dean still stood at the edge of the room, his face a mixture of disbelief, anger, pain, and relief all tucked into one. He shifted on his feet, uncertain what to say or do.

Cas knew that Dean was just being stubborn right then. He had bonded himself with Dean’s own soul when he pulled him out of Hell, and he knew that the man wanted nothing more than for the bad blood between them to be fixed and pure once again. He knew that Dean wanted to apologize for things he hadn’t done, but he still wanted to apologize anyway.

And if that wasn’t a sign of a broken man Cas didn’t know what was.

Sam gave him a pile of clean clothes, Dean’s Cas assumed, and handed him a razor. So the scraggly mess of a man was unnerving then, was it? Cas figured it was.

Before Sam left he paused at the door. “You _do_ know how to shave don’t you?”

Cas snorted, and the face that Sam made was more than entertaining. “No. That’s why my beard’s down to my feet.”

Without waiting for any response he closed the door on Sam. He locked it out of habit and shed his dirt covered clothes. The water was ice cold against his skin and the sound of running water and chattering teeth filled the room.

It was funny how a human body was able to get so cold. It was funny how it could get so hot, too. And it was simply hilarious how a human body was ruled by such things. So weak and so frail… Cas had to give all the humans credit for managing to survive for so long.

When he was cleaned and shaven he pulled the flannel shirt that sat on the top of the fresh clothes pile over his head, too lazy to bother undoing the buttons. The shirt smelled like Dean, and it made Cas feel like he had a place in the world after all.

He looked at himself in the mirror then. The man staring back at him wasn’t the Castiel he had grown used to. That man was red eyed and scruffy, worn and fearful. The man that looked back at him now was clean and wide-eyed, despite the headache that still drummed in the corners of his skull. The man now was the same as it had been a year ago, angelic and certain.

Only now the angel part of him covered up his recent mess, but anyone who looked hard enough could still see it, and Cas didn’t know how he felt about that.

When fully dressed Cas moved toward the bathroom door. He opened it slowly and poked his head out first. He wanted to make sure that Dean and Sam were still seated outside, that they weren’t just messed up dream that had come from taking drugs. But he hadn’t taken any recently, had he? Maybe he had and everything that was happening was some sick little fantasy.

But when he looked out the two brothers were seated across from each other, their faces animated as they appeared to be in a hushed argument, Cas smiled to himself.

Maybe everything _was_ a twisted fantasy. If it was or if it wasn’t, Cas didn’t care. He loved it anyway.

When they didn’t appear to notice him Cas shut the door loudly behind him. Dean was the first to look up, but he lowered his gaze and continued to be unusually silent. Sam turned around to face him and, seeing the new and improved Cas, gave a smile.

He stood and asked, “Are you hungry? I was just about to go out and get some dinner for us.” He tried to keep his voice relaxed, but the anger that was coming from its edges was still pretty evident.

“No.” Cas paused. “What time is it?”

Sam checked his phone. “Around six, seven-ish. Why?”

“I’m not hungry.” His voice was monotonous, like it always used to be. It was a false pretense, though, and he only spoke in such a way to put Sam’s questioning mind to rest. Although the fact that he was speaking of hunger went right against his intentions.

Sam shrugged. “I’ll drive slow and get you something for when you are.” He looked over to Dean, and Cas would have to have been five times blind to not see the wry face he sent his brother’s way. “Real slow.” He drew out the final words as he disappeared through the door.

Dean did not wait for the door to shut entirely to stand and cross over to Cas. He expected another punch, and he could hardly blame Dean for doing so. But the blow did not come. Instead, a hand met his shoulder, gripping tightly, as if it were afraid to lose what it held.

“I told you to never change, Cas.” He barely said the words loud enough to be heard. They were even softer than a whisper. The wind could probably speak louder.

Cas swallowed. He looked at Dean who still avoided his eyes, and his heart dropped even further. “I didn’t change and that’s what made me,” he responded slowly.

It was the truth, wasn’t it? He stayed his same self, believing in free will and his own actions. He believed in his actions so much that he hardly doubted them. He believed and he was let down.

Dean released Cas’s arm. With a sigh he finally looked up, and it took everything for Cas to not look away.

The anger in Dean’s eyes had died entirely. In its wake was left a broken hope and, beneath the experience that tried its best to hide his feelings from the world, relief. Pure relief that made Cas give a small smile.

It wasn’t a drunken smile like the one earlier, but it was sincere, for he was far beyond relieved that he was still loved.

A similar smile stretched across Dean’s face as well. “You’re still the same feather-brained idiot, that’s for sure,” he said. “We’re here, Cas. I’m always here. Just don’t change.”

He stood there, looking at Cas sadly, and Cas wanted to hit him over the head. He knew Dean, and he knew how stubborn he could be. And if a year as a runaway human didn’t broaden Cas’s sense of the world then nothing ever would.

So he took a step forward before throwing his arms around Dean. He felt the other man grow tense beneath him. He recovered quickly, and Cas knew that it wasn’t because Cas was Cas. It was because Cas was a guy, male parts and all.

He knew all about Dean’s famous ventures with women who, chances were, he would only ever see once. He knew exactly how Dean would bury himself in those women so that he could forget all else. But, more importantly, he also knew just how Dean felt about him, and he knew that a little prodding was all that was needed.

He knew everything about Dean’s soul, after all, and he knew that if Cas had chosen a female vessel he’d have been fucked in a heartbeat.

Hell, he knew a lot of things, and they all seemed to tie back to Dean.

So, Cas wound his hands up Dean’s back to his head where he twisted his fingers in the other’s hair, pulling gently. Cas gave Dean the chance to pull away, just in case he was wrong about the man after all.

But he didn’t. He pulled Cas closer, his arms tight around the fallen angel’s body. Dean hugged him with a sense of desperation, longing, and Cas knew that Dean could stay like that until Sam came back.

How long was Sam going to give them even? He had said he was going to take his time, but how long was that? Cas wanted to know. He wanted to know how much time he had with Dean.

He wanted to know how much time he had to fuck with the other man till they were bruised and tired.

Sure, women had been added to Cas’s list of things he had done over the course of being human. At first it had been a mistake. He hadn’t meant to have sex, but, as luck would have it, he was drunk beyond belief one night and the next morning he was lying in some stranger’s bed with his own sickness at the side. And, hey, he was only following Dean’s lead.

He might have even had sex with a guy once or twice, just as drunk as the first time.

But male or female, whichever sex he was with, he always called Dean’s name, despite being far out of everything around him. It was always Dean, and it was in that time he learned how horny humans truly were.

Dean still held Cas tight. Cas stood unmoving, torn between staying in that comfortable embrace and kissing him. Dean, despite being the type of fuck-all man he was, wasn’t going to be the one to make the first move here. The thought made Cas roll his eyes and raise his chin. He looked up at Dean, still surprised, but nearly as much as he had been earlier, and he kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed or angry like the kissed he exchanged with random strangers when he had been drunk were. No, this one was gently, with their lips hardly brushing over each other. It was a test of sorts, and Cas’s grip on the back of Dean’s head had loosened, as if he expected the other man to move away.

Half of him honestly expected Dean to back away, to stare at Cas with widened eyes, and to ask: _“What happened to you?”_

The other half was quite the opposite, because he knew that Dean wouldn’t leave.

On the other hand he did not expect Dean to pull him closer, deepening the kiss between them. His hands clutched at Cas’s shirt as if Cas was the thing that served as his lifeline. And Cas was, wasn’t he?

He swiped his tongue across Dean’s lips, urging the man to allow him in. When Dean parted his mouth slightly, a sigh on his breath, Cas ran his hands up the back of Dean’s head once more.

Cas had imagined that time over and over again in his head, thinking of ways it could possibly turn out. Yet they never seemed like _this_.

Those times seemed like they were so long ago, when he hid and fled from those who wished him dead. It had only been that morning, before he had seen Dean and Dean had seen him. It was a strange thing. So very strange that the time Cas spent with Dean made the whole previous year just seem like a nightmare. A huge, messed up nightmare.

But it wasn’t. The fact that Cas was standing there with his mouth locked with Dean’s just proved that everything that had happened was real. It was real and there was nothing else to be said of it.

“Cas,” Dean managed to say through a gasping breath. “Cas, we…” He trailed off as Cas moved his mouth down to his neck, biting gently. “I missed you,” he finished off after a moment.

If he was surprised he didn’t show it, so Cas took the opportunity and sucked lightly at Dean’s neck. Since his handprint was gone Cas was just going to have to mark the human in other ways.

“I had to leave,” Cas said against him, his lips moving across stubbled flesh. He answered the unspoken question, and he hoped Dean would understand. Dean had to understand.

And he probably did, since Cas didn’t believe that they would be standing in each other’s arms if he didn’t.

“You could have stayed.”

Cas couldn’t help but to roll his eyes yet again. He looked at Dean and shook his head, although he knew otherwise. Yes, he could have stayed, he could have helped. Helped with what, though? What had happened during the year had been gone?

Quite honestly, he did not care.

He began to push his body against Dean’s, just hard enough so that he had to take a step back to keep his balance. That was how they made their way over to the bed, with Cas pushing gently and Dean dragging him as he fell.

When Dean’s knees his the spring filled motel bed they gave way and he fell back, grabbing at Cas’s shoulders so that the other man came with him.

Cas placed his forearms on the sides of Dean’s head. He looked down at the green-eyed man who struggled to keep his eyes on Cas. If it had been a year earlier their situation would never had been like this, and all to blame on Dean’s pride and Cas’s lack of humanity.

Both seemed to vanish right then as Dean pulled Cas’s head down. He kissed the fallen angel while his hands dug into his hips, biting deep into the flesh.

Cas hummed against his lips, thinking how strange everything was. How strange and how entertaining. Dean tensed again, and Cas figured he should probably stop with the unnecessary thoughts that did nothing but amuse him.

But then he’d have to completely shut down his mind, and Cas didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want any alcohol so he was fuzzy and dumb in the head. Then he wouldn’t remember coming back to Dean. He wouldn’t remember straddling his hips while he bent over to kiss him, biting at his lips and nuzzling his cheeks, loving how the small hairs scratched across Cas’s clean shaven face.

Cas pushed his hips against Dean’s then, shifting in place as Dean gave a sharp inhale. His eyes were closed as he kissed Cas, unaware that the other man kept his eyes wide open, looking over as much of Dean as their close contact would allow. Cas watched his eyes flutter as he moved above him again, grinding their hips together with a bit more force.

Cas watched him, because he knew that Dean never responded the same way when he was with other women. This reaction was one Cas could make, and Cas only. And it was oh so very hot knowing that it was saved for just _him_.

Cas watched him because _, damn_ , he was beautiful.

He slid his hands up Dean’s chest, burying them beneath the shirt so that his fingers traced at muscled flesh. It didn’t last long, however, as Dean sat up, pulling his shirt over his head with a fluid motion.

“You too,” he growled, obviously through with Cas’s pace.

It wasn’t intentional, really. Cas had spent his life as an angel where he had grown used to always having time. When Cas was with other men or women he probably did the same things, except then he had no recollection of his memories and he doubted his partner did either, so foreplay either did or didn’t really count as anything. Drunk sex was quick sex, at least that was what Cas gathered from it.

With Dean, Cas just wanted to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, that everything was actually real. If given the option Cas would just skip the sex and cling to Dean for the rest of eternity.

Dean struggled with the buttons of the flannel shirt, and Cas moved to help him until he remember how exactly he had gotten it on. Pushing Dean’s hands away he pulled it up over his head, suddenly regretting that he hadn’t undone the top button.

Dean laughed, and Cas smiled into the fabric tangled in his face as warmth flooded his body.

“Here.” Dean quickly unbuttoned the shirt and looked at Cas with amusement plain on his face.

Cas wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or thoroughly pleased that he had seen Dean smile after an entire year had passed by.

So he pressed his lips against Dean’s once more, pushing him back against the bed. He continued to grind his hips down. The small sounds Dean made against him made his head swim and his body ache, and he could listen to them all day.

If, of course, he didn’t become hard from the breathy moans and gentle hums. Even Dean seemed to think otherwise, and Cas could tell that he was reaching his limit for letting Cas tease him by barely moving.

“Okay there, feathers. You’re done,” Dean hissed, as if having heard Cas’s thoughts. He grabbed at his shoulder before flipping them over so that Cas lay below him, looking up with amusement in his eyes.

“I’m hardly an angel. Even then I was a pretty pissy one.” He said those words with a smile, but he couldn’t keep the cynicism from seeping in. Dean looked surprised, and that was all that kept Cas from saying more. He had to bite his tongue to keep the words from escaping his mouth.

He had changed far too much, and it was only then that he fully realized the extent. If it had been the past he would have made some stupid deadpan, commenting on how he wasn’t made of feathers. At least not entirely.

Cas regretted changing. With his hands hooking on Dean’s jeans he regretted what he had become.

He wanted to give the original Castiel back to Dean, not the wandering Cas he had become. Something inside his heart snapped when he had laughed in the park earlier, and he wondered if Dean would accept him as that same man or if he would no longer love him.

Cas hoped with his entire being that it would be the first option.

He suspected it was too, since Dean continued to grind against him while kissing his chest, as if he were making sure that Cas was actually still there.

Cas’s eyes fluttered and it was then that he realized Dean was speaking as he dragged his teeth across Cas’s chest, biting here and there.

“…fucking angel. You shouldn’t have left. I made mistakes, sure, but I thought I was the one who drove you away. We didn’t exactly part in the best of situations. And then there was Sam and Crowley and the damn Angel Tablet, and _fucking God_ , everything was fucked up. I’m sorry, Cas…”

Cas grabbed at Dean’s hair, pulling him up so their eyes met. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I was the one who left you to fix everything. Do humans usually talk this much when they’re going to have sex? I don’t remember ever talking this much so let’s stop.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Instead he pulled Dean down against him in a kiss, far more heated that the last. Their teeth clashed together, and it seemed to be more of who could get further down the other’s throat than anything. All the while Dean laughed, his chest rumbling in surprise from Cas’s words.

Dean moved his hands down Cas’s belt, struggling with the buckle before tossing it across the room. Pants and boxers followed soon after, and Cas couldn’t help but frown as Dean still remained partially dressed as he sucked on Cas’s neck.

“Off,” Cas growled, annoyed at both Dean’s lack of nakedness and his obsession with Cas’s neck and not his hardening dick.

Dean understood the command as he began to peel off his own pants.

Without a word Dean latched back onto Cas’s neck, nipping at his jawline as took Cas’s cock in his hand, stroking and rubbing his thumb over the pre-come covered slit.

Cas groaned as he arched up against Dean. This, he figured, he could definitely get used to this. “Fucking hell, Dean.”

Dean bit at his collarbone. “No talking.”

“Shut up.” Cas thrust his hips up, fucking himself into Dean’s fist, and, _damn_ , when had he become so hard?

“Cas,” Dean said, his voice edging on a whine. “I’ve never— with a guy at least—”

“I have,” Cas interrupted. He felt the way Dean tensed above him and he wondered if that had been the right thing to say. He pulled Dean’s mouth up to his in apology to let him know what he felt. All the drunken sex rounds were just out of pain and loneliness, and they meant nothing to him. Only Dean did.

“Same as with women,” he continued. Well, not entirely the same, but he didn’t exactly feel like explaining sex to the god himself. Either way, he wanted to give himself to Dean, fully and wholly, as an apology of sorts. The groan that came from deep in Dean’s throat told Cas that he understood.

His hand grabbed at the nightstand, trying to grab at the drawer’s handle. After a few moments he managed to grab a bottle of lube and slammed the drawer shut. Cas laughed against Dean.

The other man paused and looked down at him. “What? Never used lube in your multiple conquests?”

The question made Cas’s heart drop. That had been exactly what Cas found entertaining, although he wasn’t sure as to why. He couldn’t remember what he had done when he had sex with other men. He just remembered that they were a whole lot harder than women, but that had been the extent of his knowledge. Was there lube? Maybe. Probably. He didn’t know.

But he recovered quickly, saying, “No, just, how long have you been here?”

Dean seemed to find the counter-question acceptable since he ran his finger up Cas’s length, smiling as he watched Cas squirm beneath him. “No talking remember?” he asked.

“Fuck the no talking rule,” Cas growled. He began to shift in place when Dean removed his hand. He pushed his hips against Dean’s, grinding their cocks together and causing Dean to hiss out.

“Wait a second,” he said. “Fuck, _wait Castiel_.”

Cas froze in place, looking up at Dean who slicked up one of his fingers with the lube. He considered moving again to hear Dean say his name. That was all he wanted: for Dean to say his name.

A smile broke across his face. Humans were so _horny_.

Dean pushed Cas’s legs apart before pressing a finger to his entrance. He kept it there, waiting, and it took a moment for Cas to realize what the holdup was.

When he looked up Dean was smiling. Cas would have scowled and swore, except his _fucking eyes_. Cas could have melted right then. Dean looked at him so warmly, so lovingly, and Cas wondered how in the world he had ever managed to leave in the first place. How had he left the man he had given up everything for? He had no idea in the slightest.

Still, as lovey-dovey as they could be, if Cas couldn’t play around then Dean couldn’t either. So he pushed himself down against Dean’s finger, allowing the digit to settle in place for a moment.

Dean pushed in second, then a third, curling his fingers and scissoring the surrounding muscle. Cas moan, moving down against Dean’s hand again and wondering why he ever did this drunk.

“Dean,” Cas gasped out as his fingers continued to stretch at his entrance.

“Hmm?” Dean hummed against Cas’s hips. He twisted his fingers, burying them deeper. That was all that it took for Cas to yell out a string of curses with Dean’s named stitched in.

Dean made the same motion with his fingers, pushing slightly against Cas’s wall of muscle, right where he had hit Cas’s prostate.

Cas practically fucked himself on Dean’s fingers, back arching and eyes closing. “Fuck. Now.”

Dean pulled his fingers out, causing Cas to moan at the loss. Quickly he slicked his own cock with lube, running his fingers up his length slowly as Cas watched.

Cas felt the way his eyebrows drew together. He couldn’t remember Dean being such a tease. Without warning Dean pushed himself into Cas who let out a strangled yelp.

Dean paused, halfway in, and looked down at him in concern. “You alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” And though the words were said through gritted teeth, Cas wanted to do nothing but laugh. Fucking hell that had felt good. When Cas had said human sex was repetitious he had no idea what he was talking about.

To make sure his words got across to Dean he thrust his hips against him. Dean moaned as he began to slide in and out of Cas. At first Cas just clenched at the blankets around him, gasping out Dean’s name every time Dean managed to hit his prostate.

“Fuck, Dean!” Cas hissed out.

His vision danced in his eyes as Dean continued to pound into him, the sound of flesh on flesh echoing in his ears. This was better than any drug he had taken. His body burned and his cock throbbed, and he was pretty sure he was going to come without even touching himself if Dean continued like that.

Cas began to move with Dean, creating an off rhythm that involved nothing but desperation.

“I fucking missed you, Cas,” Dean hissed out. “I’ve waited too long for this.”

Cas pulled Dean’s mouth up to his by the hair. He kissed him hard, biting at his lower lip and burying his tongue in Dean’s mouth.

“Come on,” Dean said through gasps.

He pushed his hand between them, grabbing at Cas’s slickened cock. He began to run his finger along the hardened member, finally rubbing the head with his forefinger.

Cas let out a whine, unable to form words any longer. He had been long since gone, and having given himself to Dean he honestly didn’t mind it. That was Dean above him. That was Dean who fucked him hard. And if that was worth anything then he may as well be dead.

“Castiel!” Dean growled against Cas’s neck, and Cas almost lost it as Dean began to call his name over and over again.

He let out a garbled string of curses as he pulled at Dean’s hair and scratched at his back. “Dean,” he managed to gasp out. His head was thrown back and his body arched forward. Dean’s dick sliding in and out of him sent waves of pleasure through his entire body, and now he was numb. “Now! I’m going to come,” he growled, or at least he meant to. The words that escaped his mouth sounded nothing like they were intended to, but Dean seemed to get the hint nonetheless.

Cas let out a loud groan as fire filled his body to the brim. He came then, spilling out into Dean’s hand as his muscles clenched as one. Dean came shortly after, filling Cas who managed to let out an exhausted moan.

Why in God’s name hadn’t he had sex with Dean Winchester before? Cas knew the answer, yes, but it didn’t matter. He finally had it and it felt fucking great.

Dean pulled out after he caught his breath, and he moved up on the bed to lie beside Cas.

“I missed you, you stupid angel. Now don’t you ever think about leaving again, got it?”

Cas felt the heat from the other man, and it wrapped around him like a blanket, so comforting and sure. He rolled onto his side, pressing his chest against Dean’s, and allowed Dean to pull him close. Cas buried his face into the crook of his neck. He smiled and kissed him lightly.

“Never.”

Cas didn’t know what to say as they continued to lay together in silence, still intertwined with one another in a mess of sweaty limbs. Dean was the one who usually said things at times like that, not Cas. And it was weird, wasn’t it? That Cas didn’t know? Earlier he had thought of all the things he said he knew, and now he said he knew nothing. But that was a human in its simplest definition: hypocritical.

They were hypocritical, and Cas thought that was perfectly okay.


End file.
